


Make It A Home

by Demon Dreams (ScribeAzari)



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Gen, Loneliness, Melancholy, Snippet, and good food, and the sky, he misses his friends, mentions of Buddy, reflecting on the past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 11:05:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18520186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScribeAzari/pseuds/Demon%20Dreams
Summary: Boris was never meant to be left on his own for so long, but in the studio, it's rarely safe to be around others, especially those he once called friend.





	Make It A Home

Simple living wasn’t really as simple as it’d once been. There wasn’t really much of a pattern to day and night, for one thing. No clouds to lie back and watch, nor stars to twinkle – not even a sky at all. Food was pretty different, too. As a fellow with a hearty appetite, a varied diet was a thing he valued. Kinda hard to manage anything of the sort when all he could find to eat was just soup. Only one kind of soup, at that!

It just wasn’t right. There wasn’t really much he could do about it, though. He’d tried the door: handle, lock, hinges and axe – nothing. There should by rights have been windows somewhere, but even those were absent. The studio was pretty big, but being trapped still made it feel rather claustrophobic. With no way to really change that, he focused instead on making his little slice of their cage as homey as possible. Having a stove and somewhere to lay his head was invaluable.

It was lonely, the silence wearing on him, but scattered fragments of memory bleeding through the ink he stepped in were enough to convince him it was safer to keep apart. It was a nightmare, and one he didn’t know how to escape, however much he pretended he was okay. His frustration found its way onto his wall, scraps of paper from posters he’d found stuck together to create a miserable figure.

He pretended this was his friend, who’d keep him company and help him to figure out how to find the light-hearted fun everyone was missing. He knew that really, Buddy didn't have a body of his own, and couldn’t do anything that Boris didn't allow, but it helped to pretend. After all, wolves were social creatures, and though he was a toon he was still fairly sure it was plumb unhealthy to be solo when he was meant to be part of a set.

From time to time, he played cards with Buddy – that is to say, he played for both of them – but knowing both hands made things particularly boring. It wasn't exactly easy not to peek at cards he was holding, after all. Other times, he drew, trying to recapture happier times – when Alice had been sweet and kind, and Bendy had been a timid, mischievous little soul. They were both still around somewhere, he knew, but he didn’t dare seek them out.

He’d heard Alice’s unhinged laughter in the distance, while screams rang out. It hurt to hear, recalling what she used to be like, but he fancied it’d hurt more to meet her now. Bendy, when he’d glimpsed him, had been almost unrecognisable. Tall, gnarled and dripping, the machine hadn’t been kind to his blinded friend. Honestly, Boris couldn’t _tell_ how much of his friend’s mind remained - and given how afraid the whispers were of him, he didn’t dare check, just sort of... grieving him.

He wasn’t sure he could stand having to face down a hollow shell of his best friend, even if Bendy _hadn’t_ apparently become the most powerful of the studio’s denizens. The demon seemed to radiate pain, lurching and gurgling, and Boris was almost sure that the loud, crushing wave of mental _pressure_ that had rocked the studio a while back had been him, too.

The closest he had to a coherent neighbour now was that unfortunate Sammy fellow. He, at least, could read. Given what he’d gathered about the man, Boris didn’t want to risk approaching him directly. However, he also seemed to be the closest Bendy had to a carer right now, and that had to count for something, right? So, he left notes, seeking friendship through the written word. Sometimes, he even got replies, left in the same little nook. It was nice, having a friend again, even if some of the things Sammy wrote about were questionable at best. He could work on that, maybe. Better some hope than none.


End file.
